Chapter 70
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 70
Humans were not alone in this world, nor were they its masters.
A single dragon could reduce a city to ashes. A massive Orc invasion was a force of nature that humans could only endure, like a passing typhoon.
Fortunately—or perhaps unfortunately—these forces beyond human control were relics of a distant past.
People rarely perceived what wasn't right before their eyes. If it had happened long before they were born, they often doubted it had ever existed at all.
And so, humans numbly occupied their corner of the world, living under an illusion of safety. But just as believing in something didn't make it real, their disbelief couldn't erase what was.
"...So what I'm saying is, is there any reason to pry open the lid on a pot full of venomous snakes? That's my point."
Volka poked at the flames in an abandoned iron pot with a metal skewer.
Late at night, in a secluded lot in the city of Ehrenberg, three men sat around a campfire: Rickert, Ice, and Volka.
"It's just a request, Volka."
"It's not 'just a request,' Ricky."
Volka was clearly against taking the Special-Grade Request. As he was the Clan Leader, Rickert had to respect his wishes—both as his subordinate and as his friend. And since he understood Volka’s reasoning all too well, he couldn't simply dig in his heels.
"Maybe it's not as big of a deal as we think," Rickert offered. "It's all secondhand stories. Maybe the guild didn't know much and just slapped a Special-Grade rating on it for show."
"You don't have to taste shit to know it's shit. I know a guy who knows a guy who's a Vampire Hunter. I ran into him back before the guild war, when Delphi and I were just handling minor requests. He said that while a regular vampire is one thing, a High Vampire is practically a demigod. They have strength and speed far beyond humans, not to mention Blood Magic and the boundless knowledge gained from living for centuries. But the scariest part, of course, is that they suck blood. If you get infected and turn into a vampire, Ricky, what am I supposed to do?"
"Kill me," Rickert said flatly. "Or rather, I'll end it myself."
"Ha... Seriously, man."
"Who is he? This Vampire Hunter."
Ice, who had been lost in thought, finally spoke. He was only here tonight because he had vehemently insisted on joining the request. However, since Rickert was the one who had officially accepted it, Ice couldn't just force his way in.
Volka stared at Ice. He remembered what Dunkel had once said about him—that Ice was a man obsessed with reaching Special-Grade status. Volka had felt uneasy when they first took him in, but Rickert had vouched for him, and now they were in the same clan. Still, Volka was the type to trust someone completely once he accepted them, so he didn't dwell on the past. Ice had pulled his weight so far, and his help had been invaluable in running the branch.
Even so, Volka had to speak his mind.
"I know you have an important goal, Ice. But as the Clan Leader, and as your friend, I have a responsibility to worry about your safety. Let me ask you first, Ricky. Why do you want to take this request so badly?"
"It's not that I want to. It's that I agreed to. Besides, this is my 'first request' since graduation. I don't want to run away."
Despite Sally's warning, he was the one who had chosen the card. Backing out now, just because things looked grim, felt like a disgrace. It was a cowardly way to live, and Rickert refused to be a coward. Others might wonder why he would take such a risk, but perhaps that was the very line that divided the extraordinary from the ordinary.
He did what he decided to do, regardless of what others said. Conversely, he refused to do what he decided against. It was something deeper than mere stubbornness—it was a fundamental part of his character, and it couldn't be changed.
Volka looked back and forth between Rickert and Ice, then let out a heavy sigh.
"Fine. Let's do this. I'll invite that Vampire Hunter here. We'll hear what he has to say, weigh our chances, and if it seems doable, I'll back you up. But if it's a suicide mission, I'm putting my foot down. Deal?"
They were no longer students. They had to approach their work with professionalism. Volka understood this, and so did Rickert and Ice.
They nodded in unison.
*
Two weeks passed as Volka mobilized his connections and used the guild's influence to track down the Vampire Hunter.
It was a rainy day. Most people chose to rest indoors rather than venture outside. Only those bound by strict contract deadlines donned cloaks and hoods to brave the weather; the rest relaxed by the hearth.
Three or four adventurers occupied a table, playing cards to stave off boredom. They didn't seem particularly invested, mechanically laying down and flipping cards. Delphi was near the bar, teaching younger recruits their duties, while Volka snored loudly in front of the fireplace, lulled by the sound of the rain.
It was a peaceful, lazy afternoon. While a miserable day for those working outdoors, the sound of rain was a soothing balm for those at leisure.
Suddenly, the front door rattled open, and the downpour outside grew distinct.
A man in a soaking-wet hat and a black cloak stepped inside with heavy, deliberate footsteps. He carried a large leather bundle slung over his shoulder.
Thud. Thud. Thud...
The brim of his hat cast a shadow over his eyes, but he exuded an unmistakable, imposing aura. He was clearly no ordinary traveler, nor did he seem like a mere Low-Rank Adventurer.
Delphi gestured to the card players to wake Volka, then addressed the newcomer. "What brings you here?"
"Rekerd the Hunter. I was told the Branch Head here was looking for me."
He removed his hat, revealing a rugged face framed by an unkempt beard. Yet, his eyes gleamed with a surprising, sharp intelligence.
"Volka? Ah, don't tell me... you're the Vampire Hunter?"
"Shh!" Rekerd hissed.
"?"
"Do not speak of those abominations so lightly. You never know when or where they might be listening. I would appreciate it if you simply called me Rekerd."
What on earth... Delphi was inwardly dumbfounded but simply nodded in agreement.
Volka, finally awake, wiped the drool from his chin and stood up. "Ah, you've arrived. You're the Vampire Hunter, correct?"
"...Please call me Rekerd. May I warm myself by the fire?"
"Of course. Follow me. We have a fireplace upstairs."
Volka led Rekerd to the third floor, a cozy space that resembled an attic. The ceiling was high enough that they didn't need to hunch, but with the roof directly overhead, the drumming of the rain sounded exceptionally loud. Volka lit a fire in a small stove connected to the chimney.
"I'll go fetch the boys. Please wait a moment."
Volka went back downstairs, woke Rickert—who had been napping after checking his gear—and gathered Ice, who was organizing documents with Boribori.
"Hello. I'm Ricky."
"Ice."
Dressed in casual clothes, Rickert and Ice greeted him first.
Rekerd had hung his cloak on a rack near the stove and was carefully inspecting his unstrung crossbow. Beside him lay several wooden stakes and a mallet.
"Rekerd."
Volka, Rickert, and Ice sat down across from him, with the stove between them.
"What did you adventurers want to see me for?" Rekerd asked.
"We wanted to ask a few questions about High Vampires."
At Rickert's words, Rekerd's expression immediately darkened. "A High Vampire... May I ask why you're inquiring about such a thing?"
"To kill one. If possible. But before that, we wanted to consult an expert to learn more about our prey."
"Hmm... I heard plenty about the reputation of the Red Cloak and the Violets on my way here, but this is not a conversation to be had lightly."
"We aren't taking this lightly," Rickert said. "We make our living by the sword; we know the weight of our lives."
His words were mature, but he still looked remarkably young. Rekerd studied him quietly. Perhaps it was the dissonance between his youthful appearance and his formidable reputation, but the boy exuded a strange, compelling presence. Though it was their first meeting, Rekerd could sense that this youth was extraordinary.
"I don't mean to look down on you. But have you ever met tiger hunters? The men who hunt great beasts capable of tearing knights to shreds are surprisingly ordinary. In truth, they aren't even particularly skilled fighters. Yet, just three of them can bring down a tiger, climbing a mountain with nothing but a wooden pole each. Vampire hunting is the same. Your swordsmanship likely won't be of much help."
"I understand."
Rickert accepted the remark with surprising composure. A swordsman proud of his skills might have taken offense, but he showed no such ego. He was here to learn.
Rekerd was slightly taken aback by his humility.
"Good. Then let's do this. I will teach you how to track and hunt a regular vampire. Then, I will show you firsthand how it's done. We can talk about High Vampires after that. If we can't even manage a common one, speaking of High Vampires is sheer nonsense."
Rickert glanced at Volka and Ice, then nodded.
Seeing how cooperative the young adventurers were, Rekerd nodded in satisfaction and continued.
"There are two main ways to kill a vampire. The first is to raid their resting place after sunrise. You don't even need to open the coffin; just place a stake on the lid and drive it straight through. The second is to burn them alive. But that method is less ideal—they don't die as quickly as you'd think. However, as long as they don't jump into water, they will keep burning. If you weaken them with silver weapons, they will eventually turn to ash."
"That sounds simpler than I expected," Rickert noted. "But how do we find where their coffins are hidden?"
"That is the crux of the matter. Any vampire worth their salt keeps thralls. You capture and interrogate them to find the lair. There's no need to feel guilty; they are traitors to humanity who supply their masters with human cattle."
"What about garlic or holy water?" Ice asked. Surprisingly, he seemed to believe the old myths.
"Garlic is a myth. That garbage doesn't work. Holy water can cause minor burns, but it's far from fatal. Just remember these rules: always raid after sunrise, and a stake is all you need to finish them. Everything else is just a tool. And lastly, never, under any circumstances, engage a vampire head-on."
Since the expert spoke with such conviction, Rickert simply nodded. Neither he, Ice, nor Volka had ever seen a vampire, so he figured it was best to witness a hunt firsthand before making any decisions.
"Vampires usually nest in large cities," Rekerd explained. "They rarely stay in small towns or rural areas because they're too easily exposed. However, I recently received word that one is hiding in Gates, a nearby city. Once you are ready, we will go slay the abomination. Stay behind me, and you will be safe."
"Understood. We are always ready, so we can set out whenever you are, Rekerd."
"Very well."
Rickert kept his conversation with Rekerd strictly professional. There was no idle chatter. It wasn't out of coldness, but because they were professionals dealing with business. They hadn't hired him to make a friend.
Three days later, Rekerd set out. Rickert and Ice packed their gear and followed him, crossing the Main River by ferry and heading west.
The journey to Gates took a full day. It was a moderate distance, but the thought of a vampire nesting so close left a lingering, unpleasant chill in their bones.
Rekerd met with a contact—either a colleague or a fellow hunter—to gather intelligence, then checked them into an inn. At dawn, he led the two into a labyrinth of alleys. They soon arrived in a working-class neighborhood—not quite a slum, but a place where people lived hand-to-mouth. The faint, sour stench of sewage hung in the air.
Surprisingly, the vampire's lair was hidden in plain sight, right in the middle of the bustling neighborhood.
Rekerd entered a dilapidated building that looked fit only for vagrants, then lifted a wooden hatch leading to the basement. A familiar scent immediately wafted up to Rickert's nose—the unmistakable stench of death.
Rekerd descended first, holding a torch. Rickert and Ice followed close behind. They soon reached the damp basement floor, where a single coffin stood propped against the wall.
However, the coffin lid was wide open. A sudden chill ran down Rekerd's spine. His contact had betrayed him.
"It's a trap."
Thud.
The hatch slammed shut above them. Rekerd reflexively swung his torch toward the sound, but the voice that answered came from the ceiling.
"Filthy rat."
As Rickert looked up, a figure leaped down, landing silently on the stone floor. A pitch-black cloak billowed around him like wings. The creature's skin was as pale as a consumptive's, and in the flickering torchlight, his crimson eyes gleamed with malice.
"You've been playing this game too long, Rekerd. It was only a matter of time before you got caught."
Just as Rekerd had been hunting the vampire, the vampire had been baiting him. And of all times, it had to happen when Rickert and Ice were with him. Though the sun was up outside, they were deep underground, where not a single ray of daylight could reach.
Instead of replying, Rekerd quickly splashed holy water into the air and screamed, "Don't look back! Run!"
He drew a silver dagger, but the vampire used his cloak to shield himself from the holy water and lunged forward, claws outstretched to seize him.
But before the claws could connect, a flash of light as pure and white as a snowflake sliced through the darkness. It was Ice's sword.
Slash!
The vampire's arm was severed. Rekerd, who had squeezed his eyes shut in anticipation of the blow, had no idea what had just happened. The vampire stared in momentary, stunned disbelief. With monstrous reflexes, the creature leaped backward to gain distance, but the basement was too cramped.
Rickert drew his sword like a flash of lightning and lunged.
Baring its fangs, the vampire kicked off the wall to tear into him, a display of agility and speed far beyond human reaction.
"Screeech!"
But Rickert's spatial awareness and dynamic visual acuity were also far from human. Despite the dim torchlight, his gaze remained locked on the vampire, piercing through the shadows with absolute focus. Above all, he could read his opponent's next move as if he could see the future. It was the result of instantly processing a deluge of sensory data—the trajectory of its gaze, its posture, the angle of its joints, its state of agitation, and its psychological state.
Perfect timing, perfect force, perfect angle. A single, flawlessly clean strike that left no need for a second.
Whoosh!
Slice!
The sword cleaved through the air with a clean, effortless sound, like a blade slicing through a radish.
The head flew off. The headless torso, however, maintained its momentum, crashing heavily into the opposite wall.
Thud! Crash!
By the flickering light of the torch, Rickert quietly looked down at the severed head. The facial muscles twitched violently before slowly freezing. Within seconds, the flesh shriveled and dried up like a mummy. It was a grotesque sight, but Rickert remained entirely unfazed.
Fascinating.
Confirming the kill, he turned to Rekerd.
"Looks like they die if you cut off their head, even without a stake."
Rekerd couldn't find his voice. He stared blankly at Rickert for a long time, his mind completely blank, before finally squeaking out a response.
"...Pardon?"